Adventures in Diplomacy
by peroxidepest17
Summary: In the beginning, there was DEAN. And some other stuff.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Adventures in Diplomacy (or how Castiel and Crowley Got Stuck On Earth Helping With the Cleanup) - Prologue  
**Universe: **Supernatural  
**Theme/Topic:** N/A  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Character/Pairing/s:** Dean, Sam, Bobby, Cas, Crowley (maybe undertones of DeanxCas who knows)  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Spoilers through 5x21 (and then pretty much AU after that). MOAR blasphemy! Some crack. Randomness.  
**Word Count:** 1,925  
**Summary: **In the beginning, there was DEAN. And some other stuff.  
**Dedication:** LOL uh, pinkpapyrus? I owe you b-day fic I believe.  
**A/N:** Christine and I decided that we would like a spin off crack series with Cas and Crowley antics. We talked about it. And so here we are. Sort of. This is all I really have right now. UM.  
**Disclaimer:** No harm or infringement intended.

* * *

**Prologue: In Which DEAN Decides Things of Great Import (and Some Things Just For Fun)**

The Apocalypse means the end of the world. However, the exact definition of "end of the world," is, as most things that involve words are, open to interpretation. This particular Apocalypse begins as a prophesied war between Heaven and Hell on the battlefield called Earth, via the Winchester vehicles. It is the end of everything as anyone knows it. That is its purpose.

Once that purpose is fulfilled and it properly becomes the end of the world as anyone knows it—much to anyone and everyone's surprise— a new world is born to take the old one's place. That is the true meaning of this particular Apocalypse as God had intended it; it is the end, but it is the start as well.

And so, after Heaven above and Hell below wage their prophesied battle on Earth in the center with the Winchesters stuck in-between, both Heaven and Hell eventually discover (too late) that in the end (the beginning), the winner is not either of them, because it was never meant to be.

The winner is the in-between.

As it turns out, Earth and the Winchester vehicles end up being much more important in the grand scheme of things than simply a means and the place. Needless to say, once the angels and the demons discover this (in the midst of fiery battle no less) there is a lot of embarrassed sputtering and righteous indignation on both ends. God has a sense of humor like that, the same kind of grinning, "Gotcha!" mentality that is seen on programs like _Punk'd _or whenever one spends increments of time greater than five minutes looking at the platypus.

Thus, in the end (and the start), the surprise knock-out punch goes to Earth, the Winchesters, free will, and the forward thinking of one angel of the Lord who descended to the center when he wanted to stop being a dick and one demon of hell who ascended to the middle so he could keep on being an honest businessman.

* * *

The Apocalypse, like any civilized war, follows certain universal rules. To the victor(s) go the spoils.

Some of which are getting to make all the rules.

In the new world order, Heaven and Hell are greatly weakened. They are now required to report to Earth. Angels write debriefings to the humans in charge about the evils they have stopped and the criminals they have apprehended in the name of Heaven's will. Demons are mired in red tape and long lines, holding stacks and stacks of forms whenever they apply to claim a soul on Earth. It is very different from before but it works; the humans in power hold the rings of the Horsemen and the swords of the Archangels and the beer of themselves, a holy trinity of peace and control and new, fun ways of thinking.

God, in the meantime, has died. All old things die eventually, even God, but before He did He created the Apocalypse so that there would be new things left behind to take the place of the old things. He died peacefully alongside all the other old things whose time had come, and as He did, He made sure to pass His job on to someone new. This task went not to the devoted sons of Heaven or the powerful beasts of Hell, but like the rest of the world, went to His beloved man instead.

More specifically, God's chosen successor is named Dean.

* * *

Dean, as he insists on being called (though it is often pronounced DEAN by those who wish for more official and lofty titles for their new DEAN but who are, at the same time, too afraid to defy His will), puts Bobby in charge of Heaven. Bobby is not a dick, the words of DEAN declare, and so Bobby shall clean house upstairs and teach angels how to drink the beer of DEAN and speak the language—the Word— of DEAN and most important of all, Bobby will help the angels learn how to take deep breaths and unclench every once in a while.

Michael does his best to follow the teachings of Saint Robert and fulfill his duty to DEAN because Michael has always been the most dutiful of the Heavenly Host; the first word Michael learns from the Word is "Dude." It is strange and mystical on his tongue, but with time, comes almost naturally to himself and to his brethren, alongside other holy gospels like "Idjits" and "Sweet" and "Blow me."

Even though it is strange, these are the Words of DEAN and they are good. Mostly.

* * *

DEAN reluctantly puts Sam—SAM, the demons whisper with reverence and hope— in charge of Hell. It is because SAM insists that he can make changes there, and the demons are in awe of their Lord's persuasive strength when DEAN reluctantly agrees, such as it is that SAM's power is one of the few things that can move DEAN to concede to someone else's requests. It is because SAM is most dear to DEAN, perhaps as dear as Lucifer had been to God, except that SAM is not psychotic and DEAN is not the Father of all dicks in Heaven, amen.

Thankfully, even in the new world order, SAM understands that it is necessary to punish the evil deeds committed on Earth by the souls of the wicked. And so Sam penalizes most of those mid-level sinners who descend into Hell with His Flatulence for part of the time, and then puts them in time out for another part, to think about what they have done (and to get some air), and then afterwards, judges if they have learned their lessons and are ready to reincarnate to Earth for a second chance to do things right. And while the last two parts of SAM's regimen are found to be questionable by most of Hell's upper management, everyone universally agrees that any portion of time spent in the presence of His Flatulence (amongst other things) is a terrifying and dark punishment indeed. Their new Master is truly fearsome and awe-inspiring that way, which just figures, because this is the guy that managed to harness the true spirit of Free Will as God had intended it and turned the tables when Lucifer had entered his body, burning _Lucifer's _grace out of him instead of getting burned out himself.

No one, not even upper management, wants to fuck with that shit.

Even if they aren't sure about the whole time out thing.

But in the long run, upper management supposes that all is not lost; at least in New Hell under the rule of SAM the beer of DEAN is allowed, and they _can_ have it cold.

Humans are the damndest things (ha ha Hell humor).

* * *

DEAN declares that Heaven and Hell should have ambassadors who remain on Earth proper as well, a couple of demons and angels that would live permanently amongst man and learn to understand man's plight and share that understanding with their respective brethren. It is the recipe, He states, which had helped Earth win during the end of the world. "In fact, I'm thinking all of you douch… er, guys, should do a tour here on the mud heap every once in a while. See what it's like to be us."

Castiel smiles crookedly when he hears this and says, "Amen." And while it is the right word to say, the other angels who see him as he says it think that perhaps it is not meant exactly as it is said. Those who learn more about the humans and their ways some years later recognize that what Castiel had used at the time is called irony, and it is a thing much loved by mankind (thought slightly less than beer).

DEAN smiles back at Castiel knowingly when the angel says this, and the look of it makes the graces of all the other angels flutter inexplicably as He murmurs, voice low, "So you think you might be able to recommend anyone for the job, Cas?"

The new Archangel Castiel looks properly thoughtful. "I might. But he will have to be convinced."

DEAN seems pleased (and some years later, angels will learn that in that moment, Castiel is being something called 'facetious.' He is an enigmatic Archangel indeed).

After that, before Crowley can slink off into the shadows— in the hopes of not is being named or looked at or considered anyone's friend (least of all the DEAN's)—his escape is cut off by Castiel and he is pulled into the center to face DEAN with very little of his dignity still intact.

"Hey, Crowley," DEAN says, a twinkle in His eye that makes the black smoke essences of all the demons present twist in strange ways, "stay around for a while. We'd miss you."

"That's sweet and I may have vomited a little. But I couldn't. Business to attend to back home and the Dogs need to be fed. Chew the furniture to pieces if you leave th…"

The ground beneath him rumbles.

"Love to," Crowley manages with a sigh and an expression that desires a tumbler or two of good Scotch. "Wonderful."

"Sweet, so it's decided." DEAN grins then, wide and mischievous and ultimately charming as He looks between His favorite angel and His chosen demon. "I've got an office all set up already and everything." Pause. "You two don't mind sharing, right?"

Castiel blinks, Crowley groans, SAM snorts, and Bobby rolls his eyes.

DEAN just drinks His beer and smiles His smile. "Since you know, you guys made such an awesome team before."

"He might _kill _me," Crowely gripes, pointing at the Archangel.

Castiel is perfectly calm when he swats Crowley's finger away from his nose. "I would not kill you unless you gave me due reason to," he offers, reasonably.

"See?" DEAN says. "Fair's fair."

Crowley disagrees (DEAN or no DEAN). "It's not fair when you consider the fact that I'm evil, and as such can't be blamed when I inevitably give him a reason to kill me as is _in my nature_," he insists.

DEAN snorts indelicately. "What, you? You're a pussycat."

"Remember that when I'm a dark stain on your pretty Embassy rug," the demon sniffs.

"I would not leave a stain," Castiel promises, once again, very reasonably.

Crowley gives him an incredulous look. Castiel looks right back in a way that means he has failed to read Crowely's incredulity completely, and DEAN busts out laughing like this is His best idea to date.

"This is gonna be great," He says.

No one disagrees.

For it is the word of DEAN.

And while everyone knows that it is ultimately good, it is a little bit evil too.

The denizens of Heaven and Hell are learning that this is just how the humans roll.

* * *

Thus, in the world that comes after the end of the world, Earth rules both Heaven and Hell, humans can be gods and saints and devils while still being human at the same time, and by His ineffable word (and slightly wicked sense of humor), the Ambassadors Castiel and Crowley grudgingly move into the Inter-realm Embassy DEAN has set up for them, which turns out to be nothing more than a run down two-bedroom two-bathroom apartment with peeling paint and creaky floors, nestled right in-between DEAN's own loft and the trash chute on the second floor of an ancient three story building at the very center of the center of the new world.

From there, Hijinks inevitably ensue.

**END**


	2. Chapter 1

**Title:** Adventures in Diplomacy (or how Castiel and Crowley Got Stuck On Earth Helping With the Cleanup) – Ch 1  
**Universe: **Supernatural  
**Theme/Topic:** N/A  
**Rating:** PG  
**Character/Pairing/s:** Castiel, Crowley, Michael (Mentions of Dean)  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Spoilers through 5x21 (and then pretty much AU). MOAR blasphemy! Some crack. Randomness.  
**Word Count:** 1,110  
**Summary: **The Archangel Castiel is in charge of Angel Orientation. And puppies.  
**Dedication:** for pipsqueaks! Encouragement for you to catch up and also to let you know I am thinking of your BTR fic. ^_^  
**A/N:** I needed a break from my awful script writing today. Behold the speed fic.  
**Disclaimer:** No harm or infringement intended.

* * *

**1. In Which Castiel's Life in the Service of DEAN is Hard and the Demon Crowley Learns a Little Sympathy**

"This is… confining," Michael states, with a weighty gravity that sucks all of the air out of the room. "It is much too small."

Crowley rolls his eyes and sips at a mug of coffee in the kitchenette, watching as Castiel stands beside his brother in the living room, looking as grave and weighty about the whole thing as Michael does. "It is as Dean has ordered," Castiel says.

Michael gives Castiel a look of utter reproach.

Castiel blinks. "DEAN," he corrects.

Appeased, Michael turns to inspect himself in the mirror thoughtfully, wearing the human body that Castiel has fashioned for him to use during the six months that he will be forced to live on Earth as a human, powerless and removed from the host.

It is the first mandatory tour of duty for any of the angels, and of _course_ Michael would be the eager beaver to go before anyone else.

Crowley thinks he looks ridiculous.

Castiel seems to be thinking similarly, even as he reaches out and straightens the collar on Michael's tacky pewter blue polo. "You are ready, brother," he informs the mortal-bound Archangel with all the encouragement of an obituary. "I have obtained employment for you at a place called McDonald's."

Crowley chokes on his coffee. Neither angel notices.

"Dude, that is… sweet," Michael answers after a moment, dutifully. The words roll off of his tongue like boulders.

A beat.

"Was that not correct? I have studied the Word scrupulously, Castiel, and have drunk many beers. I believe it was correct." Michael fidgets in his new human skin.

Castiel's brow furrows. "It was correct," he confirms, after thinking about it for a moment. "And yet I am disturbed."

Crowley snorts. "You'n me both."

"I do not understand why the Word would be disturbing to you, Castiel," Michael begins, and looks at Castiel in critically, as if afraid that Castiel might fall again sometime soon.

"I apologize. It is difficult to explain. Dean is…"

Michael coughs.

Castiel sighs. "DEAN is the only one of the host I am accustomed to hearing in a manner so…" he trails off and makes a vague gesture with one hand when he can't find the words.

"Crass and tasteless?" Crowley chimes in helpfully, and Michael pauses to give him a disdainful look over his shoulder. "Idiotic?" he continues, encouraged.

"If you blaspheme like that again, I will smite you where you stand, you unholy Hell beast," Michael booms in dark promise, somehow making himself the picture of righteous fury even in that awful short-sleeved-polo-and-slacks get up.

Crowley just smirks at him and dunks his biscotti into his coffee smartly. "With what powers, moppet? You don't think I'm actually going to be afraid of a future fry cook wearing Wal-Mart couture do you?"

Michael blinks and instinctively knows he is being insulted, though he isn't quite sure how, exactly. He turns to Castiel. "What is a Wal-Mart?" he booms.

"According to DEAN, it is a demon infested hellhole." Pause. "But I believe others consider it a department store."

Michael turns to glower at Crowley again, looking rather affronted on both counts. "The moment my power is restored, I will wipe you off the face of all existence," he vows.

Crowley grins. "It's a date then, darling. I'll wear something nice." He picks out his day planner from his pocket and flips six months ahead in it. "Oh wait, that's a Friday. Can I pencil you in for the Wednesday after, maybe?"

Castiel looks tired. "Crowley, please do not heckle the Archangels," he says, not for the first time.

The demon looks innocent. "What? He's the one making me sweet, sweet promises."

Michael makes a fist with his hand and squeezes, like he is pretending to crush Crowley's head with his powerless fingers.

Castiel clears his throat. "Michael," he intones carefully, glancing sideways at the clock on the wall. "You will be late for your first day."

Michael pales at the thought of being anything less than perfect. "Then I will be off. Thank you, Castiel. I hope that you will have an exceedingly awesome and badass day."

Castiel nods in response—still looking kind of pained— while Michael fetches his coat and practically runs out of the apartment door, though not before sparing one last baleful glare at a smiling Crowley on his way out.

"Wow, so Dean was right," Crowley starts eventually, finishing off his biscotti with a flourish, "you really are the most well adjusted angel." Pause. "That's kind of sad."

Castiel is weary. "Yes, it is."

He pads over to the fridge and takes out the beer. Crowley snorts. "It's only nine," he points out.

Castiel pops the top from the first drink. "I am to give a lecture on various facets of being human to a group of my brothers at eleven. Dean has stated that I should begin with puppies."

A moment.

"Right. Cheers then," Crowley says, and watches Castiel finish a six pack for breakfast without another word.

* * *

Two hours later, Crowley walks past Castiel's open office door just in time to hear the new Archangel lecturing pedantically to five freshly Earth-bound angels on the enigmatic nature of the things humans call smiles.

"I do not understand," an angel called Barbiel asks after a moment, and holds up a squirming chocolate Labrador retriever puppy. "What about this is supposed to make us smile instinctively?"

"It smells bad," Dardariel confirms.

Atrugiel raises a hand. "And why is he called Rodney? It is not a name that properly sings the praises of DEAN, nor does it strike fear into the hearts of the wicked and Heaven's enemies."

"I believe it has just defecated on the floor," Eiael adds.

Castiel sighs and carefully takes an unhappy Rodney out of Barbiel's curious grasp. "Perhaps we should move on to pie instead," he suggests.

More hands immediately shoot up.

"Why is it called pie when it retains many of the properties humans associate with things called sandwiches?"

"Did the pie or the sandwich come first? If it was the pie, perhaps the sandwiches should be the foodstuff in question here."

"Does DEAN require that we love all pie equally or are some pies created greater than others?"

"What if we prefer sandwiches to pie? Is this considered blasphemy? Can we fall because of it? Why is roast beef so delicious? Is there such a thing as pie with roast beef inside of it?"

Castiel looks very, very tired. Rodney licks his face.

Crowley finds himself going out to buy more beer.

**END**


	3. Chapter 2

**Title:** Adventures in Diplomacy (or how Castiel and Crowley Got Stuck On Earth Helping With the Cleanup) – Ch 2  
**Universe: **Supernatural  
**Theme/Topic:** N/A  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Character/Pairing/s:** Cas, Crowley, Dean (maybe slight undertones of DeanxCas who knows)  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Spoilers through 5x21 (and then pretty much AU). MOAR blasphemy! Some crack. Randomness.  
**Word Count:** 2,280  
**Summary: **Some inter-departmental clashing. And piecake.  
**Dedication:** pinkpapyrus for the crazy capslock and the blatant stealing of her pics. LOL  
**A/N:** More speed fic! Because I am avoiding the last fifteen pages of my script because they're stupid. ;_;  
**Disclaimer:** No harm or infringement intended.

* * *

**2. In Which a Line is Drawn and Castiel is Viscerally Offended by Crowley's Actions**

In the new world order under DEAN, demons are no longer responsible for creating (or even encouraging) chaos and strife on Earth. Now they are what one might consider the celestial police officers in charge of monitoring humanity's (admittedly impressive) self-created chaos and strife.

SAM has stated that the demons will watch mankind like highway patrolmen watch speeding cars, popping up from crafty hiding spots under rocks and bushes and freeway overpasses whenever someone breaks a heavenly law so that they can speak to the perpetrator and give fair warning. "Sir," they will say, often in a dream or drug-induced vision, "were you aware that this is your sixth murder in twenty years? You do realize that if you keep going down this road you will be sent to the ninth circle, right? And in the ninth circle, you will have to listen to Lucifer wax poetic about how dumb and pathetic and disgusting you are as puny human beings until its time to go to the Gas Room."

And then the offending human will probably say, "Well no, officer, I didn't know I was doing that, I could have sworn this was only murder number four. But thank you very much for stopping me and telling me. I'll try to curb my serial killing spree immediately, and aim to stay somewhere in the eighth circle of Hell when I die instead."

And then the demon will nod, and will disappear, and leave the actual human police to deal with the human criminal during his remaining time on Earth (if they catch him at all), because Hell's authority is not over the living while they are on Earth; Hell's authority will only matter once the physical body has been shed and it is time to make the eternal soul of the person suffer the wrath of SAM.

And this is where DEAN's brilliant idea of keeping Crowley here on Earth comes in, because Crowley is the demon charge of Hell's police force on Earth. From his tiny office with a window view of a brick wall, Crowley summons his fellow demons, educates them on company policy, and then assigns them on tours of duty all throughout the known world.

It's not exactly the business he'd wanted to be in when he'd signed on with Team Free Will, but it works in its own ways, when certain demons on the force bribe him for the juicier beats or to prolong or shorten their tours accordingly. He accumulates a decent amount of property from all of these under-the-table deals, both in Hell and on Earth, and as they say, it's a living. He knows SAM knows all about the deals, but lets it happen because Crowley _did_ help save the world so he _could_ make deals and live in obnoxious affluence as a result of them in the first place.

It's not like it's hurting anyone. Mostly.

Not anyone who doesn't deserve to be a little bit hurt, anyway.

Next to Crowley's room, the apartment's other bedroom-turned-office is designed to serve the very same purpose for the forces of Heaven. There, Castiel serves as the angel commissioner extraordinaire in charge of making sure his very special brothers and sisters don't make a smoldering pile of the planet everyone had worked so hard to keep intact. He arranges for the angels to go to Earth, provides an empty vessel in which they will live as humans during their six months cut off from the host, and afterwards, when they are returned to their angelic forms, he is in charge of their petitions to perform the occasional miracle and monitors their work encouraging righteous actions and helping lost souls seek redemption. (In other words Castiel watches them do boring stuff; it's why Crowley calls the angels the useless branch of the armed forces, kind of like to Coast Guard only slightly more celestial. At least his side sees some actual action.)

In short, within each of the rooms of this tiny, crappy apartment, the forces of Heaven and Hell and their influences on Earth are carefully weighed and balanced and monitored on a daily basis by an overworked demon and a stupidly devoted angel.

So of course the waiting room outside these two rooms is where the actual interesting stuff happens.

* * *

On one particularly sweltering summer afternoon, Castiel is at his desk, carefully explaining to his brother Gazardiel why the people he's working with during his stint on Earth prefer to be called Asian and not Oriental.

"It's complicated," he'd managed, on seeing Gazardiel's questioning head-tilt-of-doom. He thinks a little, before trying to offer another explanation. "People ascribe multiple meanings to words based on time of reference, the person using them, geographical region, and context of the situation. Mostly, Oriental is used for inanimate objects. Rugs. Rice. Artwork."

"Humans are needlessly complex," Gazardiel mutters as he takes this in. "Why do their words hold so much power over them when so many of them don't even speak the same language?"

Castiel blinks a few times. "It's…complicated," he manages again, and then sighs because even after all of his time down here, he stilldoesn't get them either.

To be fair, DEAN is not a fair representative sample of humanity in general.

Gazardiel head-tilts-of-doom some more in the meantime, and waits for more elaboration about what Castiel means by complicated.

Castiel lamely offers him a beer.

* * *

Crowley is likewise at his desk, playing solitaire on his computer and pretending to care while a whiny little demon named Mosley is complaining about how the whole warning system the demons have to adhere to now is sure bringing down the soul count in Hell.

"Quality over quantity," Crowley grunts absently, "We get 100% proof evil filtered down nowadays." He is about to slip into his shtick about how he _might_ be persuaded to get Mosley into a more lucrative beat—say a government office of any world power—if he's so concerned about soul counts, but before he can, the walls of the apartment start to shake ominously, and there's the telltale scent of sulfur and ozone mingling in the air.

"Great," Crowley mutters, and blinks out of the office.

* * *

Both Castiel and Crowely arrive in the small living room that serves as the Embassy's waiting area just in time to hear a newly grounded angel named Hasmal declare, "But these are the orders of our Lord DEAN."

A fresh off the Styx demon called Chaney grins back mockingly at the indignant angel from the couch. "And that's why SAM is way better than DEAN," he declares, and leans back, sipping a beer while looking smug.

"I refuse to remain in the presence of such filth." the angel declares, and begins to unfurl his wings in a manner that speaks of ready-to-smite.

"Yeah? That's not what your _mom_ said last night," the demon rejoins.

The angel frowns in confusion, wings mid-furl. "I have no mother."

The demon pauses when he realizes that that's true and mentally backtracks. "Uh, well, that's not what your DEAN said last night," he offers next, lamely.

From his doorway, Castiel blinks. "I was the only one who spoke to Dean last night," he points out reasonably, finally feeling the need to interrupt the quarrel. "He stated nothing specific regarding filth when I went to receive Revelation."

Hasmal looks vindicated upon hearing that, while Chaney just snickers and says, "Oh is _that _what they're calling it these days?" because he's evil, and can't help it.

"That is what they have always called it," the angels both answer with perfect seriousness, and tilt their heads in strange synchronization.

Crowley sighs, because this whole Autistic Angel spiel could go on forever if he let it. "Let's just all sit down and shut up and read the _Marie Claire_ alright?" he suggests from his doorway, looking at Hasmal and Chaney with eyebrows appropriately arched and suggesting of things in the arena of gay antics (which are his specialty). "It's sweet you enjoy pulling each other's pigtails so much, boys, but I'd like to be able to concentrate on my game without you stinking up the place with all the fanboy pheromones."

"Then I will strike him down and this conversation will be over," Hasmal offers. "He dares to mock the will of DEAN and all that is good and holy."

Castiel nods. "Dean is very good," he agrees, all pining like.

Chaney crosses his arms defiantly. "Well I think SAM is way better is all," he huffs.

"He's got anger issues," Crowley snorts, before he can stop himself.

Chaney just grins. "And they're awesome. I mean, I read the books. Towards the end DEAN just gets all mopey and pitiful. He was totally ready to say yes to Michael, and then where would we be?"

Castiel frowns. "But he didn't."

"Well _yeah_, because of SAM and his awesome anger."

"SAM said yes too," Hasmal points out, looking sulky. Castiel is very close to looking the same.

"Yeah, but He did it with a plan! And He used the power of Free Will to _burn_ Lucifer's power out. Way more awesome than DEAN. In fact, I think SAM should be DEAN instead of DE…"

Crowley is the only one who notices it when the Archangel Castiel's wings begin to unfurl and the walls begin to shake.

"Shit," he mutters, and disappears as quickly as he is able.

* * *

Five minutes later, DEAN looks disapprovingly around the almost totaled apartment. "Dude," He mutters, eyes on Castiel. "I was just finishing the greatest gift known to man and _Crowley_—the _demon—_ pulls me away because _you_ can't play nice with the other kids?"

Crowley would be insulted at the implications in DEAN's tone if they weren't so unbelievably true. Castiel has the grace to look cowed. "It's complicated?" the Archangel offers lamely, while DEAN tsks at him and pointedly declares, "That's it, no Piecake for you."

Everyone blinks. "Piecake?"

DEAN grins and holds up an overflowing pie pan in triumph. "Dude. Pie with _cake _inside. Greatest gift known to man."

Castiel looks heartbroken. "And none for me."

DEAN sighs at the angel's big sad moon eyes and eventually gives in. "Okay maybe a little for you. But seriously guys, this can't keep happening. We're never going to get our deposit back on this place if you keep ripping up the ground," He points out, and everyone knows that while He commands the full realms of Heaven and Hell now, He still doesn't really have dominion over His fellow man in quite the same way (or at all). It is, after all, the terrifying power of Free Will.

"I apologize, Dean. I will endeavor to work harder at keeping the peace amongst the angels and demons that enter this place in the future," Castiel promises DEAN, eyes full of hope again, now that he has been allowed to partake in the greatest gift known to man.

"I know it's not gonna be easy, but…" DEAN trails off, looking around the room thoughtfully. Then snaps his fingers in epiphany. "I got an idea."

"That can't be good," Crowley mutters, and as usual, is the only person (or demon or whatever) present who is always right and sane at the same time.

DEAN ignores him and goes into Castiel's office to grab a marker; he uses it to draw a thick black line down the center of the apartment. "There," he states when he's done, looking self-satisfied. "No demons on this side, no angels on that side. We'll fix the floorboards in the morning. Cool?"

Castiel thinks about this before nodding solemnly. "Cool," he repeats, and makes DEAN grin.

Crowley is not as impressed as Castiel is (probably because he lacks the giant angel-crush Castiel is harboring that makes him incredibly biased towards everything DEAN says or does). "That's the stupidest thing I've ever…" the demon begins, but before he can finish, realizes that DEAN is already gone after receiving the Archangel's acknowledgement (which just figures).

On top of that, the Piecake has been left as a peace offering on—how convenient—Castiel's side of the black line. Unbeknownst to them both, their Lord and Savior's unexpectedly speedy exit is due to the fact that He has just had another brilliant idea regarding Creation; this one is going to be called Piewaffle (and it will not just be good, but awesome as well).

This of course, leaves Crowley and Castiel alone together again, standing in the middle of their destroyed waiting room and its ridiculous line of black Sharpie drawn down the middle.

"Great," Crowley mutters, because the line definitely doesn't do anything for the place's already shoddy ambiance. "Look what you did now." He glances accusatorily at the angel.

Castiel's answering look is just as put out. "You are the one who told on me." The words are reasonable, but the tone he uses is full of wounded indignation and betrayal.

Crowley sputters. "Don't look at me like that. I'm _evil_! I'm _supposed _to thwart you!"

Castiel just shakes his head like he has been greatly wronged somehow, and wordlessly takes the piecake into his office with a supremely judgmental look on his face. The door shuts loudly behind him.

Crowley sighs and can't believe these damned angels and how they make him—_him—_ the _demon_ feel guilty.

Eventually Crowley heads back into his office as well and tells himself that he didn't want any stupid piecake anyway. Not really.

It isn't until a full five minutes later that Crowley realizes the door is on Castiel's side.

**END**


	4. Chapter 3

**Title:** Adventures in Diplomacy (or how Castiel and Crowley Got Stuck On Earth Helping With the Cleanup) – Ch 3  
**Universe: **Supernatural  
**Theme/Topic:** Antics  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Character/Pairing/s:** Cas, Dean, Bobby, Sam, Crowley (slightly more blatant DeanxCas in this chapter because I totally want them to make out one day)  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Spoilers through 5x21 (and then pretty much AU). MOAR blasphemy! Some crack. Randomness and stupidity.  
**Word Count:** 1,235  
**Summary: **On the nature of receiving Revelation and the dirty jokes that ensue because demons and angels are all classy bitches.  
**Dedication:** torrentialrain, since this is mostly her fault in the first place.  
**A/N:** I wrote seven pages of script today. That entitles me to some recreational stuff, right? Sure. Because I don't recreate enough. Also, I am completely unfunny, but at least I am definitely having fun.  
**Disclaimer:** No harm or infringement intended.

* * *

**3. In Which There is Some Heated Debate, the Usual Idiocy, and a Little Weekend Revelation **

Castiel is the only angel in all of Heaven who receives Revelation. To be fair, he's earned it.

DEAN makes a conscious effort not to speak to Joshua (except for that one time He called Joshua a Dick with a capital D) and spending time with the other angels makes DEAN uncomfortable because of all the Super Gay Things they tend to say to Him when He's there (things like how they adore His radiance and admire His perfection and how they are going to write some awesome songs and sing them in His honor with the hopes that His glory will be known to all mankind through the raising of their totally sweet voices).

DEAN doesn't find that very cool, so when DEAN has things to say to the angels, it is usually via Castiel, or on occasion Bobby, when Bobby can be bothered.

But it's mostly Castiel, because Castiel doesn't throw things at DEAN's head and tell Him to do His own damned job and stop bothering him like Bobby does.

"I wonder what Revelation with DEAN is like," some of the angels sigh longingly as they do their work on Earth, and Bobby usually snorts at them from the car he is scrapping and tells them to hand him a DEAN-damned wrench.

"I bet it is pure enlightenment," one speculates under his breath, wide-eyed with equal parts fascination and trepidation as he obediently hands Bobby his wrench. "The twining of Castiel's Grace and His Soul in complete understanding." He sighs romantically. "It is no wonder our brother always shines so bright."

"I hear they actually _speak_ to one another," a second counters, vaguely scandalized. "With their _mouths_. Castiel brazenly _tells _Him what he thinks, too."

"I also heard they use their mouths," a slightly more Earth-experienced angel mutters, cheeks flushed. "But not for talking." Pause. "If you know what I mean."

Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't.

"_Kissing_," he clarifies in a red-faced whisper-scream, when they don't.

Bobby throws a lug nut at their heads at that point and tells them to come closer and glow so he can see things under the engine.

"Idjits," he mutters as he works.

"Dude, sorry, Bobby," they all say, contritely.

* * *

In Hell, the theories about Revelation are slightly less reverent.

"Through the wall, I'll bet," a grinning demon reports to his cohorts, as a couple of them stand idly around the water cooler during their lunch breaks. "I mean, that's what it sounded like when I was in the waiting room during my first tour. Banging." He waggles his eyebrows and makes an obscene pantomime with one of his hands to cement his point.

Crowley sees it and thinks that it'd be more accurate if he used both hands.

"That's hot," some of the female demons murmur dreamily. "Do you think He drinks angel blood to get juiced during?"

"Does that count as incest? Like, He _is_ sort of their Step-Father in all of this. Or does it only count if there are two angels or two WINCHESTERS involved first?"

"Hmmm," the demons say, and the collective of their thoughts on the matter is strong enough to cause the after-images of their ideas to flash in Crowley's head because he is standing nearby, innocently pouring himself some coffee before his meeting with SAM.

It burns.

At that point, their boss pokes his head out of his office to glare down the hall at them, apparently experiencing something similar. "Thanks guys. _Blind forever_ now," he gripes.

"Sorry!" they say, all sweetness.

SAM bitchfaces at them a little more and then goes back to work, waving Crowley into his office for his one o'clock.

The demons around the water cooler surreptitiously slap each other low-fives once the door closes behind him.

* * *

The next time that the Archangel Castiel goes to receive Revelation, the lights are dim in DEAN's apartment and good food smells are coming from the kitchen.

"Dean," Castiel says as he enters, and while he knows DEAN doesn't like it when he brings work in to the room with him, he feels that this is important. Mostly because Michael had boomed to him over the phone about how it was important, and will probably be calling every five minutes to make sure it has been properly announced to DEAN because it is so important. "Michael has written you a letter."

From the kitchen, the microwave beeps, and DEAN mutters a few choice words under His breath when He inevitably burns Himself on hot steam in the process.

"No work!" He shouts back over his shoulder. "It's Revelation time."

Castiel frowns but dutifully loosens his tie and removes his trench coat. "Michael wishes to inform us that he has made his McDonald's restaurant the most efficient and wickedly awesome McDonald's on Earth, but that in the process, several of his employees have threatened to kill themselves and each other after being overworked. Thus far he has concluded that most humans are weak-willed and disobedient."

DEAN frowns as He comes out of the kitchen, a fresh bowl of popcorn in His hands. "Did they fire him?"

Castiel shakes his head. "No, they have promoted him to the corporate office. He wanted you to know. In case you wished to contact him. Or visit. He has stated that that is fine too. He wrote that he would make you the best hamburger in the world should you choose to see him. And the best chocolate milkshake, which he is working diligently on perfecting. Amongst other things." Pause. Frown. "It seems he would like to see you very much."

DEAN just snorts, looking pointedly at the Archangel. "No work."

That said, He plucks the letter out of Castiel's hands and throws it unceremoniously over His shoulder.

Castiel nods solemnly as the paper flutters to the ground behind DEAN, and the only thing that betrays his seriousness is the slight crinkling in the corners of his eyes, giving the Archangel a decided air of fond triumph, knowing that his place as DEAN's favorite is secure despite Michael's myriad promises. "I apologize, Dean. I will speak of it no longer." He carefully hangs his trench coat over the side of a nearby armchair.

DEAN just grunts and pushes Castiel down onto the lumpy couch before plopping down beside him so that the two of them are shoulder-to-shoulder facing the TV. He slides the popcorn bowl in His hands into Castiel's lap.

"So what'd we learn last Revelation?" He asks, more likely because He's forgotten Himself than because he actually wants Castiel to review.

The Archangel purses his lips in thought. "I have had it with these mother fucking snakes on this mother fucking plane," he recites after a moment, brow furrowed. "I believe."

DEAN's laughs as He grabs the DVD remote and hits play. "You're awesome, Cas," He says, for no particular reason.

From there Castiel quietly preens to himself, the opening credits to _Robin Hood Men in Tights_ go up on the TV, and DEAN and His Archangel spend the next two hours splitting a bowl of popcorn in the dingy one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment that is considered The House of the Lord.

Castiel is the only angel in Heaven allowed to receive the Revelation of DEAN like this.

To be fair, he's earned it.

**END**


	5. Chapter 4

**Title:** Adventures in Diplomacy (or how Castiel and Crowley Got Stuck On Earth Helping With the Cleanup) – Ch 4  
**Universe:** Supernatural  
**Theme/Topic:** Antics  
**Rating:** PG-13 for language  
**Character/Pairing/s:** Castiel, Crowley (some Dean and Sam and a bunch of OCs)  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** Spoilers through most of S5. Lots of randomness happens also. So warnings for that. Dean and Cas stare at each other too.  
**Word Count:** 4,955  
**Summary:** Crowley and Cas chaperone a fieldtrip. Cas might be turning alcoholic.  
**Dedication:** This sequel was commissioned by arakune88! Hope you got a laugh or two from it. ^_^  
**A/N:** I realize it's been forever and a day since I've played with this storyline so excuse me for being all over the place. IDK it was just for funsies okay. I am so stupid. LOL  
**Disclaimer:** No harm or infringement intended.

* * *

4. In Which There Is Art Appreciation and Some Social Justice

When it had been decided that all of DEAN'S angels (and all of SAM'S demons) would be required to spend a six month tour of duty on Earth living amongst the humans as humans themselves, DEAN, much like His predecessor, deigned to have His word brought down from the mountaintop (or in this case, the crappy apartment) by His advocate Castiel, who then shared the newly revealed Word with his brethren. The purpose of this particular Word had been to communicate a certain set of commands upon His subjects that He felt important enough to personally stress. They had been created to further enlighten the angels and the demons to the human condition in the hopes of helping these otherworldly creatures learn how to properly appreciate the marvels of humanity and the sanctity of free will.

And so, **the Ten Commandments DEAN **are as follows:

1. Eat a cheeseburger

2. Go on a date

3. Watch a sports movie

4. Play with some puppies

5. Eat pie

6. Help someone out

7. Go for a long drive

8. Fix something with your own two hands

9. Spend time with your family

10. Talk to some little kids

Of course, given the literal nature of most angels (as well as the evil of most demons), these very vague guidelines as set forth by DEAN have since been refined by both DEAN and Castiel's hands (many times) out of simple necessity; there are now countless notes and footnotes and endnotes that are required addendums in any instruction given on the Commandments, mostly because of some of the shenanigans that have since been pulled by said demons and angels in the interim. To give a more simplified version of these latest adjustments:

1. Eat a cheeseburger (Make sure it is your cheeseburger. And remember to pay for it!)

2. Go on a date (As in, out for fun, with a person. Do not defecate on a calendar (looking at you, demons) or choose a day of the week to leave your apartment (goddamned angels). Also, make sure the person you take on this date is _willing to go with you_ before you take them. C'mon guys, seriously? Kidnapping?)

3. Watch a sports movie (Golf is not a real sport. It's just not.)

4. Play with some puppies (make sure that they are big enough to play with. Make sure you have permission to play with them. 'Play with' in this context does not mean throw _like a ball_ you friggin' hell spawn.)

5. Eat pie (See addendum to 1.)

6. Help someone out (Assisted suicide no longer counts. I mean it guys.)

7. Go for a long drive (Don't steal a car. DO NOT STEAL A CAR. There are places where you can pay money to borrow them. Really.)

8. Fix something with your own two hands (This does not in any way mean break something so you'll have something to fix with your own two hands later. This also does not apply to humans or animals.)

9. Spend time with your family (In no universe is 'throttle' synonymous with 'spend time.' We will not post bail for any of you again.)

10. Talk to some little kids (But don't try to buy their souls. Don't try to take them on a date. Do not stare creepily. GET PERMISSION FROM THEIR PARENTS FIRST. No trench coats either. Hopefully you also didn't rent a creepy white van when you were fulfilling 7. I seriously can't believe Cas is the most well adjusted out of all you. I can't.)

These are the words of our DEAN. And while they are not perfect, they are well intentioned. Amen.

* * *

Because DEAN has given equal rule to SAM in Hell, and because SAM is the king of the demons, he has also been given leeway to create his own set of criteria from which he hopes his subjects will learn about Earth and embrace the many charms of humanity. For the angels, the requirements SAM puts upon them to accomplish in their mortal bodies only proves that SAM is evil incarnate. The demons tend to agree. It is one of the few things both sides can come to a consensus on without also coming to blows.

**SAM'S Commandments** are:

1. Go to an art museum

2. Watch a sunset

3. Listen to classical music

4. Take a philosophy class

5. Walk barefoot on a beach

6. Plant some trees

7. Volunteer at a homeless shelter

8. Attend a rally for a cause you believe in (or protest a cause you don't believe in)

9. Watch a documentary

10. Write down your thoughts and feelings about the day and share them with someone important to you

These, like the words of DEAN, have also been grossly misinterpreted by demons and angels alike, though DEAN grudgingly concedes that SAM'S gives less leeway for Chaos. However, when asked, any member of either side will agree that SAM'S list is by far the most torturous of the two to accomplish.

There is a saying that the new road to Hell is paved solely with SAM'S intentions.

* * *

DEAN and SAM may have been the ones to come up with these Commandments, but it is Castiel and Crowley who are in charge of implementing them. Crowley thinks that they are not paid nearly enough for the shit they have to do. (Or at least _he_ isn't, because no one can convince him that DEAN isn't giving Castiel a little something extra on the side for his troubles, gay innuendo—as always— completely intended.)

And so, once again, the ambassadors of Heaven and Hell on Earth are charged with another holy task.

It is their job to teach their brothers and sisters the Winchester Commandments.

More importantly, it is their job to make sure that the Commandments don't give their brothers and sisters leave to turn the world into an enormous clusterfuck of unbelievable stupid.

Castiel and Crowley deserve raises.

* * *

Crowley looks at the schedule that Castiel has very carefully typed out for the week and does not look forward to today. This is because he knows that today is going to suck, and as much as he enjoys the title and all the fabulous perks that come with being SAM'S 2IC in Hell, the fact of the matter is, SAM'S list of Earth requirements is a crock of useless shit. Today is a SAM Commandment activity. Nothing good can come of this.

Even DEAN seemed to think so, because when He had looked over Castiel's shoulder at their group's itinerary earlier that morning, He'd promptly burst out laughing at the sight of it, before forcing himself to sober enough to reach out and pat His pet angel on the arm consolingly, while looking a mixture of wildly amused and horribly sympathetic. "Art museum today, huh? Good luck, man."

Castiel, all rumpled trench coat and slumped shoulders, had simply sighed, glared at his Lord and Savior, and said, "I believe the term you would want me to use in this situation is fuck off, Dean."

The other angels in attendance had gasped in horror, though whether it had been because of the outright blasphemy or the casual lack of capitalization Crowley isn't sure. But DEAN had just chuckled, and His smile had threatened to split His face as He'd squeezed Castiel's shoulder one more time. "I'm so fucking proud of you sometimes, man," He'd said.

Then He'd disappeared with another gloating sort of look at the doomed angel and demon pair.

Crowley sighs as he surveys the room now, six angels and six demons all just beginning their tours of duty on Earth looking at him with either mild concern or outright leeriness. This is exactly how he'd wanted to spend his Saturday, except you'd have to replace the six angels and six demons with twelve chiseled Chippendale's dancers and their looks of concern and leeriness with simple leering, thanks.

"Are we about to embark on a great trial, Castiel? DEAN made it sound so," Metatron says to his brother suspiciously in the meantime, the senior angel not quite able to keep the irritation out of his voice at having to address an angel so much younger than he as a superior. He has his SAM journal out, and is dutifully (if distastefully) writing absently in it about today's thoughts and feelings. When Crowley cranes his neck a little to peek, the top of the page, with the journal's default "_Today I feel _"_ line, has already been written in. Apparently today Metatron feels _circumspect_.

Just like he's felt every day for the past three months. Except for that day when one of the demons had swiped Metatron's journal and wrote "_gay"_ in the blank line for him.

"Yes, we are," Castiel answers his brother with no preamble or offers of reassurance. "SAM insists that it will be an enriching experience that will help inure you all to the creative beauty of the human mind." Pause. "You all are not to touch anything," he adds, after a particularly unpleasant memory seems to strike him at random. Crowley would bet money on it being that incident with Michael and Belial at the Louvre, during their first cycle. Castiel had been forced to give both of his brothers a very hefty timeout after that. Crowley, in the meantime, had been forced to replace the original _Virgin and Child with St. Anne_ with a near exact replica (except with the Virgin's eyes _not _poked out by angry demon fingers anymore) while Castiel had distracted the security by overloading their electrical grid with his grace. It had been ugly. SAM had not been pleased. They're not allowed at the Louvre anymore.

Which is a shame, because Crowley enjoys France. The whores there seem to enjoy themselves more than the ones in the states, but then again, the Europeans have always been more enlightened about sex than the Yankees.

So, to the Wichita Art Museum it is. The whores in the Midwest seem to consist solely of cheerleaders and farmers' offspring. Crowley's life is woe.

"Stop thinking about prostitutes," Castiel tells him sharply, as the angel goes over his ridiculous camp counselor-esque clipboard one more time, to make sure everything is taken care of. "We must double check preparations for today's journey."

Crowley gives him an innocent, '_Who me_?' look. "I was actually thinking about farmers, pet," he says honestly, and after glancing at his watch, decides that it's time to go. He snaps his fingers.

When everyone blinks again, there are seven demons and seven angels all crammed into the small bus Crowley had been obliged to rent from the Budget Rent a Car office two blocks down the street, in order to drive everyone to the museum today. Mostly because DEAN doesn't want them just _appearing _places and also because it knocks off requirement number seven from His exalted list of do-gooder _joie de vivre_ clichés.

Castiel frowns again, from where he is now riding shotgun. The clipboard is still present, though the checklist on it remains partially incomplete. "I did not check to see if we had the first aid kits, Crowley," he admonishes, clearly displeased at the interruption.

"That's what EMTs are for, love," Crowley answers, and starts the engine.

Castiel huffs in displeasure before turning over his shoulder to regard their charges again. "Please fasten your seatbelts," he says responsibly, because he is totally the reliable parent out of the two of them, despite the slight drinking problem Crowley suspects the angel of developing after having to spend so much time policing his dysfunctional brothers and making sure DEAN stays happy all at once.

Crowley snorts to himself and pulls out of the apartment complex's parking lot, speeding them towards the freeway and ever closer to today's little piece of Hell on Earth.

* * *

Twenty minutes and numerous blurry freeway exit signs later, a telltale, "This-hell-spawn-is-poking-me-Castiel- no-I'm-not-the-stupid-angel-poked-me-_first_," fight inevitably erupts in the back seat. It is echoed by a few mutterings of "Are we there yet? Why is human engineering always so slow? Why?" and "I have to pee again. Damn this frail human body and its putrid mechanizations," that chime in like a catchy sub-chorus to the sounds of the demon/angel backseat brawl.

Before long, Castiel is forced to separate the demon Kinsey and the angel Mariel by instructing Metatron to sit between them. Metatron shows his journal to Castiel upon being sat in the middle of the two, which now has the word "_circumspect"_ crossed out with an angry X. It is filled in with _"deeply irritated"_ on top instead.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Metatron," Castiel answers in a tone of patient suffering, and then turns around and proceeds to tell Crowley which exit to take, like the demon doesn't already _know_.

Five minutes after that, Metatron starts poking Kinsey in the leg too, with the sharp end of his pencil.

Castiel's answer is to materialize a bottle of Jack's and drink it straight. He doesn't offer to share.

* * *

"I'm sorry, but you're not on our tour schedule for the day," a lady in a smart grey pantsuit with a nametag that reads "Carol" tells them once they get to the art museum. She blinks at the rather bizarre looking group standing in front of her in the museum lobby. The angels are all frowning at some of the fancy looking script on the walls like they don't understand what the purpose of writing on houses is unless it's in lamb's blood for the express purpose of keeping out vengeful spirits that want to kill your firstborns. The demons, for the most part, do their best to leer at Carol (or the pictures involving naked people in the background). It is sad days when the angels are more worrisome wards than the demons.

Castiel glares at Crowley upon being told that the proper reservations have not been made for a tour today. "I suppose we must have forgotten to schedule with you ahead of time," the angel says stiffly, his breath smelling faintly of whiskey. Crowley can feel the threatening push of grace against him that means Cas blames him for the oversight.

Crowley ignores him professionally and smiles winningly at Carol instead, somehow still managing to look fresh and easy despite the three hours it took to drive here and the fact that they'd had to pull over twice for pee breaks and once because a state trooper had stopped them on account of one of the demons writing lewd messages on his notebook paper and putting them in the windows for other drivers (and a bus full of children) to see. "You breed with the mouth of a goat" is apparently still a perennial favorite in Hell.

"Are you sure there's no way you can schedule us in, pet?" Crowley asks Carol in the kind of voice that could charm forbidden fruit off of trees. "We're very easy to deal with, scout's honor." He even holds up his hand in the stupid little salute or whatever, though as he does he waggles his fingers a little and grins at Carol in a way that promises nothing remotely appropriate for boy scouts to be doing with their powers.

Carol flushes a little—it's the accent, it always is—and goes over her list of reservations again, like a good, helpful girl. "Er, we might be able to squeeze in something with one of the interns?" she offers the demon politely, before her eyes trail over Crowley's shoulder, to where Galgaliel and Metatron are hunched over an interactive slideshow display by the entrance, muttering darkly between themselves.

"This is simply a collection of seven hundred fifty-eight thousand, three hundred thirty two dots at various levels of saturation," Metatron says, unimpressed by one of the pictures on the display's screen. "I don't understand the appeal."

"That is a gross misinterpretation of an actual battlefront," Galgaliel adds, nose in the air.

Carol peels her eyes from Galgaliel and Metraton and turns back Castiel and Crowley uncertainly. "Um, I'm sorry, what was your group called again?"

"We're with the autism foundation," Crowley says, at the exact moment Castiel says, more honestly, "We are war veterans."

Carol blinks.

Castiel glares at Crowley. Crowley ignores him. "War veterans with autism," the demon slides in smoothly, with an appropriately dramatic (if completely facetious) facial expression of affected admiration. "Touching, you know, that they'd still choose to fight for their country in times of war despite their own hardships."

Carol's eyes get big. "Oh yes!" she says, apparently honestly moved at the sentiment as it is being presented by the smirking demon. "Well, we'll definitely fit you in somehow. I'm sure Bethany, that's my intern, wouldn't mind taking over the children's tour, and I can personally take you all on yours."

Crowley's smile is sly. "Well, that would be very sweet of you, love. We thank you. And America thanks you."

This of course, is said with his completely charming, if somewhat ironic (given the circumstances) English accent, and before long, Carol's cheeks are pink and she's turning away to go make all the necessary arrangements with a vaguely bewildered looking redhead that Crowley can only assume is Bethany the intern.

"You lied to that woman in order to have your way," Castiel accuses him, once the humans are out of earshot. That, apparently, is only acceptable to the angel when DEAN does it. Go figure.

In the meantime, back by the welcome sign, the angel Gavreel admires a child's painting of a rainbow that is tacked to the children's hospital display while a demon named Chuffy pokes him in the ribs and sneers something offensive at him.

Gavreel, despite his name, smacks Chuffy back irritably and states, "I don't see how an appreciation for refracted light makes me merry."

"_Gay_," Chuffy insists, while Gavreel looks even more confused, because clearly repeating the same thing over again with strange emphasis changes its meaning, but he isn't sure _how_.

Crowley just raises his eyebrows at Castiel as the two begin to scuffle in the background. "Did I really lie to her?" he asks, after a beat. "Really?"

Castiel frowns like he's considering the same thing—and that he finds agreement with a demon very disconcerting— but thankfully, doesn't argue anymore. "Point," he acquiesces after a moment, and shoulders the cooler bag with their lunches in it more comfortably. Crowley smirks and attempts to steal a sandwich. Castiel smacks him with a wing, which _burns_.

When Crowley retracts his slightly smoking hand with a wince, the tip of Castiel's mouth quirks upward, like that had been the best thing he'd done all day.

Crowley just looks between the faint bubbling of skin on his hand and the squabble over rainbows between two of the autistic war veterans behind him. He wonders how sad it is to admit that getting seared with Castiel's grace is probably going to be the best thing that's _happened_ to him all day too.

Call it a hunch, or something.

* * *

Crowley's hunches are usually right.

"Humans are deeply puzzling," Gavreel declares ten minutes later, in the modern art exhibit. He is staring in confusion at a perfectly white painting (or a perfectly blank canvas) pretentiously titled _The Snowstorm_.

Beside him, Metratron scribbles angrily in his SAM journal. _"I hate art,"_ it reads, followed by, _"I feel as if someone is tricking me._" At the bottom of the page, Metatron draws the museum on fire. Crowley supposes that it should be refreshing to meet an angel so in touch with his own emotions.

A few feet further into the exhibit, Castiel is listening with patient boredom as Carol lectures about a piece of revolutionary modern art in which a celebrated local artist took an uprooted bush, dipped it in paint, and used it as a brush for his landscape paintings. "He's been praised by critics around the world for his natural-looking, chaotic brush strokes," she explains, while Chuffy and two of the other demons grin.

"I'd like strokes that came from a natural bush too, I think," Chuffy declares out loud, after a moment.

Carol blinks. Castiel wordlessly cuffs him on the head.

Nearby, an overhead light very quietly explodes.

* * *

Things don't go any better at the photography exhibit a few minutes later.

"What does SAM wish for us to learn from this?" Raziel, one of the quieter angels demands, as he, Metatron, Gavreel, and Galgaliel are all gathered around a black and white photograph of trash on a street. They are bewildered.

"Eternal torment," Metatron declares after a beat longer of staring at the photo, and draws SAM with little X's over each eye in his journal.

"Oh," the other three marvel, with deeply concerned looks on their faces, while Carol lectures about apertures and natural lighting and the demons sneak into the group's lunch basket at Castiel's side when he isn't looking because he's too busy trying to keep Mariel from grabbing Kinsey and tossing him headfirst down a nearby trashcan. Crowley thinks the little guy might have a crush on her.

But Crowley is too busy to say anything, because he is currently trying to keep Jophiel from getting some of the children in the guided school tour behind theirs to ditch their group and come spend some time with him. "Your parents are of course, invited to watch. I would not mind a legally aged audience," he adds, carefully, as he feels DEAN would want him to. "I do not own a van, but we do have a very small bus that I could take you to."

The children stare up at him with huge eyes.

Two of the moms are already dialing 911 by the time Crowley pulls him away.

* * *

"This must be what despair feels like," Galgaliel intones later, when they step out onto the sculpture garden for their lunch, only to discover that the sandwiches are already gone.

Chuffy and his cohorts belch and smirk and chase butterflies around the museum's courtyard, most likely with the intent of ripping the wings off of them.

Castiel goes to the museum café and orders seven tuna sandwiches and seven beers. He only shares the sandwiches, and more light bulbs can be seen mysteriously exploding around the museum in his wake.

Crowley knows better than to ask him to share the beer.

* * *

During the Cubism segment of the tour, Galgaliel starts to shy away from the walls with the paintings on them, looking equal parts trapped and sick. He is sweating somewhat uncomfortably and his eyes grow wild.

By the time they get to the Surrealist exhibit, he stops in front of a replica Dali and proceeds to projectile vomit all over it. Crowley can vaguely recognize tuna fish and coke from lunch. "The lines are all illogical!" he huffs defensively when he's done, and glares at the paintings like they have personally offended him. He still looks slightly green around the gills as he wipes at his mouth with the corner of his sleeve.

"Damn these frail human bodies and their putrid mechanizations," Mariel adds, in sympathy with her brother.

Metatron stares at his brother's dripping vomit as it slides in thick chunky trails down the Dali replica and onto the floor in front of him. Then he turns to cross out _"deeply irritated"_ in his notebook and writes _"intrigued"_ in its place before dutifully showing it Castiel.

"Yes, thank you for sharing, brother," Castiel says patiently, and as he does, a decorative glass wall suddenly and mysteriously cracks down the middle.

Carol looks like she's about to cry.

Crowley pretends to be interested in girl-shaped people to keep her from kicking them out.

Which is why it takes several moments before Crowley realizes that Raziel and Jophiel have both disappeared.

Fucking angels.

* * *

Several hours later, down at the Wichita Police Department, an irate looking DEAN and a confused looking SAM arrive to post bail, even though the last time something like this had happened they said they wouldn't anymore. But Castiel had needed someone to come get them, after he'd had an argument with the police chief that had escalated to insulting one another's families. In retrospect, the guy in the creepy trench coat probably shouldn't have been the one they sent in to mollify the chief of police on the subject of their group's commitment to child safety. Things had just kind of gotten worse from there. Many light bulbs had exploded.

"Well?" DEAN demands, glancing over Castiel as the angel sits in the waiting room looking incredibly irritated. "I thought I told you not to let them be creepy around the kids, Cas."

Castiel frowns at DEAN, not cowering from His displeasure at all, while Metatron crosses out "_intrigued"_ in his journal and writes, "_terrified_," before showing it to Gavreel. The other angels nod in complete agreement and hope that DEAN will not cast them into the pit to suffer SAM'S gas for all eternity.

"I believe it was the act of asking for parental permission to address the children that resulted in my brothers' arrests in the first place," Castiel answers DEAN plainly. He takes a flask out of his jacket pocket and downs a good amount of the bourbon inside of it.

DEAN scoffs. "Well maybe if they didn't ask like creepers…" he starts, and grabs the flask out of Castiel's hands. Rather than berate the angel for drinking on the job, he finishes the flask off. Crowley sees where Castiel is learning his burgeoning alcoholism from. WINCHESTERS do that to people, he hears.

"Maybe," Crowley offers, dunking a pilfered donut in a fresh cup of coffee he'd taken from the break room, "it'd be best if they didn't have to ask for permission at all."

SAM and DEAN share wary looks at the demon's suggestion. "That's definitely not a good idea," SAM says. "That will definitely lead to more arrests."

"I am reluctant to admit this out loud, but I agree with the demon," Castiel pipes up, unexpectedly, while Jophiel and Raziel are being brought in from the lockup. He stares at DEAN.

"Yeah, but how drunk are you?" DEAN asks, and stares right back. After a minute in which the other angels fear another archangel rebellion is on their hands, DEAN eventually blinks. "Huh," He says. "I never thought of it that way. I guess I'll consider it."

Some of the irritated tension drains from Castiel's shoulders. "Thank you, Dean." The relief in the angel's voice prompts another weird staring contest between the two of them, slightly less tense now, and one that makes SAM clear his throat uncomfortably and suggest everyone get back on the bus while they wait for Jophiel and Raziel to be released.

Grateful, the demons and angels obediently comply.

* * *

The following weekend, Crowley finds six angels and six demons working in perfectly amiable silence on the floor of the Embassy. They are making signs. Together. It is cooperative. Peaceful even.

He instantly doesn't like it.

"Well. Isn't this a picture? What's going on?" he asks slowly, while trying to peek over Metatron's shoulder as the angel angrily scrawls something on a big white sheet of poster board, apparently purchased at Office Max for twenty percent off.

"We are fulfilling another one of SAM'S Commandments," Chuffy explains when the angels ignore Crowley.

Crowley sighs. "Oh that." And then he pauses and supposes he'd better find out which one, just in case. "What number are you sweet little dears on, then?" he asks, forcing a casual tone.

"Eight," everyone answers absently, all at once.

Crowley has to go through the list in his head to try and remember which one that is. Oh right, the hippy one that SAM must have come up with as an homage to his northern California days of yore. "Well, isn't that nice. What are you rallying for? Bringing back the tan M&Ms? The three day work week?"

"We are protesting injustice," Gavreel informs the demon stiffly, his eyebrows furrowed in a severe impression of Castiel's.

Crowley's eyebrows dart up slightly. "Protesting? All of you? Together?"

"Yes," they answer again, and don't seem to want to clarify.

Crowley can feel a headache coming on, and he'd only just gotten in for the day. "Right. What are you protesting, then?" he pushes, before he loses his patience.

Metatron finally deigns to look up. "Art appreciation," he says.

From the look on his face as he does it, Crowley thinks that today, Metatron probably feels _vindictive._

He leaves the room quickly.

* * *

When Crowley walks past the open door to Castiel's office on the way into his own, he sees that the angel is sitting face down at his desk, one hand clutching a near empty bottle of vodka and the other cradling a plate of chocolate piecake. His computer is on, cursor blinking on an open Word document that it looks like he'd spent the entire evening on.

The clock chimes nine am.

Just another day at the office in a universe ruled by the WINCHESTERS.

* * *

The unsaved document on Castiel's computer reads:

**The Ten Commandments of DEAN**

(The fifteenth updated and abridged version, as recorded by the hand of Castiel, Archangel of First Consequence under the rule of DEAN in 0001 the year of our DEAN)

1. Eat a cheeseburger

2. Go on a date

3. Watch a sports movie

4. Play with some puppies

5. Eat pie

6. Help someone out

7. Go for a long drive

8. Fix something with your own two hands

9. Spend time with your family

10. **Ignore SAM'S list**

**END**


End file.
